Journal Entries
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song descriptions (archived, kinda old)
Posted Jan 25, 2003
12:57 PM 1/6/2003
Today's symphonic voyage into instrumental electronica:
DJ Taboo's inappropriately named "Technological Virus": a melodic, enchanting voyage through a vibrant sea of stars, each echoing silently across the void: "home..."
11:04 PM 1/3/2003
Today's electrified, midi-esque adagio for trance:
Drakonic's "Duel": Fitting accompaniement to the denouement of an epic RPG; a clean, transcendent progression into the portal of a hopeful future, quietly shimmering in the palette of a million stars
1:03 PM 1/2/2003
Today's gradual, relentless flight into goa:
Goa Syndrome's "Live Force": a throbbingly progressive boxing match on a barren plain orbited by a Goodyear blimp pulsating with angry chromatophores, signaling into the darkness that the invasion has begun
12:06 PM 1/2/2003
Today's hyper amped goa shit:
Goa Syndrome's "Final Fantasy": a frenetic, neverending chase scene through downtown Manhattan on a rainy, windswept, neon-lit midnight backlit with ball lightning and psilocybin
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Latest reply: Jan 25, 2003
new poetry
Posted Jan 18, 2003
Hold the embers of my heart
Tell me what you see
Explain this artless undevotion
This soulless blasphemy
I leap and founder in the flames
The silent stars observe my plight
And in my throes I fail to move
The stoic watchmen of the night
Relieve my sightless, sinking search
Scatter my thoughts into the sky
Light fire to the floating globe
That therein might redemption lie
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Latest reply: Jan 18, 2003
olin
Posted Jan 11, 2003
So: Franklin W. Olin College of Engineering, Needham, Massachusetts: pioneer of all things wondrous and strange in the arena of undergraduate engineering curricula.
I finished my application today; at last, I'm finished with this cursed process, as long as the teachers who are supposed to send recommendations in for me pull through. At any rate, I submitted the application, which they insist on being filed electronically unless extenuating circumstances absolutely prohibit, and was immediately notified that a hard copy of a signed affidavit was also required.
The postmark deadline for the affidavit was January 10, 2003. This wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't about 3:35 PM on said date, the final mail pickup at school hadn't already been made, and the nearest post office would close in 25 minutes.
After 300 frantic seconds of calling around trying to get a ride (boarding students really get the shaft at my school), I decided that desperate situations do indeed call for desperate measures, clutched the envelope between my teeth, splattered across the mud-covered field, and sprinted down the fog-laced two-laner to the post office.
I don't know what time I stumbled into the door at, but it was unquestionably uncomfortably close.
*dusts hands off*
That, then, would appear to be that.
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Latest reply: Jan 11, 2003
elucidation / unavoidably teen angst-related ramblings
Posted Jan 4, 2003
"I think you’re a really nice guy, but..."
—which leads, in this case, not to the terribly hackneyed, apathy-inducing depression of the rejected, but instead to a quietly wandering speculation on the nature of...well, things. The sine curve, at the moment, is very distinctly below the x-axis, and while it is far closer to “mildly disappointed” than “hysterically disconsolate,” I cannot help wondering why—every time I cease to be able to find meaning and satisfaction in intellectual or physical pursuits—I turn to a sort of amorphous desire for a formless companion who places her head on my chest and looks up at the stars with me, and forges, through sheer force of will (but of course, without the slightest effort), a timeless bubble amid the chaotic disequilibrium that, though entertaining and vibrant and challenging, is undeniably wearying, monotonous, and daunting in its seeming infinity. The shifting landscape offers no respite, and I would not long for one so badly if only I could create—in the space between her breath and mine—a slip, a discontinuity in the stream of neverending meetings and minutes, a break, a hiccup in the unceasing babble of formulae and surface areas, an infinitesimal fold in the fabric of everything through which I could escape—if only for a moment—to take a breath, and live again. And then, the grinding, grinding, grinding through which I grind myself again and again would not exact so harsh a toll on my wavering belief that there is some point to all of this, and I could stagger on, in my world of puppets dangling from invisible strings, sanity balanced on the unending edge of a knife.
Instead, there is nothing.
It’s not _her_ I want; it's who she _is_.
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Latest reply: Jan 4, 2003
Mike and Erika
Posted Aug 26, 2001
When Mike left, nobody expected it, except maybe Mr. K., whose name I am abbreviating because his last name is very distinctive and I wouldn't want to detail his private affairs for all the world to read about. Additionally, I wouldn't want to call him by his first name, because I'm not on a first-name basis with him (well, I call him Mr. K. and he calls me whatever he damn well pleases), and I have _that_ kind of respect for him. Anyway, he might have known why Mike left when he did, and he might know all the details, like none of the rest of us do, because the general consensus is that Mike left because of a disagreement with Mr. K.
Mike was an interesting character, but when he wasn't busy being the guy who would drink out of the cup that everybody would put a little something into (it would start off being half full with, say, Coke, and then I would put in some ketchup, and then you would put in some vinegar, and then someone else would put in some month-old relish, and so on), he was very good at martial arts, and he was good with the kids too. He liked teaching the white belts, which was a good thing, because nobody else did (except Mr. K., and I don't think he really _liked_ it - he just had the patience to do it because he had been doing it for so long and he did it well), and he taught them well. He had just gotten his black belt in Taekwondo a few months back, and was a lot better than me at sparring (although perhaps individually his kicks weren't quite as sharp), probably because he had been doing it for a lot longer. I don't remember precisely, but I think he had been doing Taekwondo for a large number of years - a number like eight, or nine. Before he left, he had been on a trip to "the river" (and no one could tell you _which_ river - even Erika - but if you asked anyone where Mike was, they knew that he was at the river), and had accidentally cut his wrist with a key. Nobody could really believe that until he took the bandage off his wrist, and if you looked at the cut (which nobody wanted to), you could see that yes, it had been cut - almost down to the bone - with a key. Mike had a knack for injuring himself in very strange ways, and every week after sparring (which was on Thursday nights), you could see him hobbling around with a random body part wrapped in athletic tape. Oddly enough, he set a sort of trend - a few other people started wrapping themselves with athletic tape when they sustained sparring injuries as well, but that didn't last for very long after he left.
He left under odd circumstances - we first noticed a lack of Mike on the day after the 4th of July, and I heard that he was just at home nursing a hangover. That would be normal for Mike, and I thought nothing of it until the next day, when he failed to show up. Although I've never had a really bad hangover (and in fact, I've only had a hangover once), I could understand Mike somehow landing himself a two-day hangover, and that theory was acceptable to most of the other people I talked to. Anyway, when Mike failed to materialize on the next day, new theories started emerging, and it wasn't until the next week, when I talked to Erika, that I found out the real story. Apparently, Mike had had a disagreement with Mr. K. and - that was as much as she wanted to tell me, and to be honest, I had no _real_ desire (aside from the normal human curiosity that everyone deals with in a situation like that) to hear any more details.
Erika was a tough woman, who never made lengthy speeches, never rambled on unnecessarily, and never gave out more information than she thought was reasonable. If I remember correctly, she had been a blue belt when I started, and I had always thought of her and Mike as almost a single entity. The most memorable proof of this concept, for me, was when they were both half-black belts, and I was taking a class in which the two of them, off to my right, were lined up next to each other. Watching them do fighting exercises (which are individual sets of two or three kick combinations) was really an amazing spectacle. Through something on the order of forty five different kicks, they remained exactly synchronized; each kick was performed to the same height, at the same speed, and returned to the same position. They finished the set at the same time, and I would have sworn I could almost _see_ the chi flowing between the two of them. Anyway, they received their black belts at the same time, in a ceremony just for the two of them. For a while, I was convinced that Erika still maintained regular communication with Mike, even though none of the rest of us had seen him for quite a while.
About a week ago, I noticed something a little different about Erika, and now I'm not so sure. It seems like the Mike in Erika - the side of her personality that his presence seemed to suppress - was coming out. The circumstances would be extraordinarily difficult to explain, but it became clear to me that Erika - who seemed to be the stoic half of a person - had found her silly side.
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Latest reply: Aug 26, 2001
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